Chapter 2

2.

“The surgery is tomorrow?”

The attending physician handed me the clipboard, his tone routine. “Dr. Mercer is still out of town for a conference. If you’d like to wait for her, we can reschedule.”

“No,” I said. “Tomorrow is fine.”

The doctor just nodded, asking no more questions.

As I walked out of the office, two people came down the hallway. Elena was pulling a suitcase, looking like she’d come straight to the hospital from the airport. Liam followed her, wearing a black cashmere overcoat over his casual clothes―the Burberry one I’d given Elena for our third anniversary.

Elena saw me and her brow furrowed.

“What are you doing here? Sick again?”

That word, “again,” stung like a needle. She snatched the papers from my hand, her eyes scanning them with a flicker of annoyance.

“I have a full surgical schedule tomorrow. This isn't an emergency. We can do it when I have time to oversee it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ve already handled it.”

She looked taken aback.

This was coming from the guy who used to call her worried about every minor fever. The one who sent her a dozen options just to pick a weekend getaway destination. Now, here I was, calmly scheduling my own surgery. If she hadn't run into me, she probably wouldn't have known until after it was over.

I took the chart back, accidentally knocking a small bottle from her hand. It clattered to the floor―strong prescription sedatives.

“It’s not what you think,” Elena said, bending to pick them up. Her voice was as flat as if she were discussing the weather. “They’re for Liam’s chronic insomnia. Doctor’s orders.”

Liam clutched the coat tighter, his voice a fragile whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Caleb. It’s all my fault. My anxiety has been so bad lately, I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. Elena is the only one who understands. She said she couldn’t leave me alone, in case I… did something stupid.”

Her voice trailed off.

“You don’t know what it’s like. Sometimes my head is just full of dark thoughts. I can only get through it when Elena is with me. I just wish I could be strong like you.”

I’d heard this script before.

Every time I questioned their relationship, Liam would bring up his mental health and his “episodes.” And Elena would shoot me a look that screamed: *how can you be so heartless?*

Once, I had a sharp pain in my chest and asked her if it could be stress-related. This brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon told me: “I don’t know, I’m off the clock.” When I complained she was being dismissive, she just pinched the bridge of her nose wearily.

“Can’t you just look it up yourself? You’re a grown man, Caleb. Can you be a little more independent? Stop relying on me for every little thing.”

So frugal with her words for her boyfriend, yet she personally escorted someone else to their pharmacy.

“Well, you should take good care of him then,” I said, my voice completely flat. “After all, his sleep schedule is much more important than my surgery, right?”

Liam’s face flushed. “Caleb, that’s not what I meant―”

“Are you still mad?” Elena cut him off, her eyes fixed on me. “Just because I didn’t tell you I was going out of town?”

Two weeks ago was her birthday. I had worked overtime for weeks to get the day off, cooked a five-course meal, and had the vintage watch she’d been wanting ready. I waited until midnight, but she never showed. I only found out where she was when I saw Liam’s Instagram story―she was in London for a medical conference.

“It was just a business trip,” she’d said then. “I don’t need to report my every move to you. Birthdays happen every year, but this was a career opportunity. Don’t you have your own life to worry about? Why are you always tracking my schedule?”

I’d lost it on the phone that night.

“Elena, in your world, am I always last? The least important? The one who can always be postponed?”

Her only response was: “You’re being irrational. We’ll talk when I get back to Seattle.”

Then she hung up.